


Struggles and Strength

by leopardchic79



Series: A Series of Sometimes Fortunate Events [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Use (mentioned), Relationship Issues, Sex, depression (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22902934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardchic79/pseuds/leopardchic79
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire's relationship falters in the face of confronting Grantaire's alcoholism.  Enjolras loves him more than anything, but he isn't entirely confident in his ability to support him through this in the way that he needs. Grantaire is easily overwhelmed by Enjolras' concern and is also terrified of letting him down.  But they manage to work their way through it together.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: A Series of Sometimes Fortunate Events [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597462
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chronologically, takes place 3rd in this series, but can be read on its own.

It wasn’t something that he noticed consciously right away. After all, it was sort of an ingrained character trait at this point. 

Grantaire drank. Ever since Enjolras had known him it had been a part of his makeup. At first it had been a source of annoyance, but after a while it had sort of faded into the background. Even after they had started a relationship, it wasn’t something that Enjolras gave much thought to. Sure, there were nights in college when he had drank too much and had ended up worse for wear the next morning. But _most_ of his friends had done the same. 

After college, their nights of boozy excess had lessened considerably. Not a group dinner would pass in which at least one person wouldn’t moan about how _old_ they suddenly were and even a second glass of wine would become a regret the next day. 

But now…now they had been living together for close to five months. It had made Enjolras happier than he had expected. Coming home to a shared apartment with Grantaire, kissing him goodnight every night, sharing meals and space and time. He had never expected to have – or want – these little things that had suddenly made him so happy. Finding one of Grantaire’s shirts in his drawer, hearing him hum while he painted in the second bedroom while Enjolras worked on an article, cooking together. It was domestic and safe and it had calmed just a bit of the restlessness that lived in Enjolras’ soul. 

For the most part it had even calmed the worst of their arguments. They bickered – nearly daily – but their angrier arguments had lessened somewhat. It was difficult to stay angry at someone you shared a bed with every night. Combeferre had said they were more mature now. Courfeyrac had said – with a smile – that it was just a honeymoon phase of moving in together and they’d get over it. 

Most of their habits were already known to one another, but there were still some things that they were learning. And that was why he’d first begun to notice it. 

Grantaire drank. 

Again, not exactly something he hadn’t already known, but he saw it differently now. Because he was there every day. And he saw it. All the time. 

It wasn’t excessive. He didn’t wake up and immediately pour himself a drink. He didn’t carry a bottle around to drink straight out of or anything quite so extreme. Their fridge and cabinets were not solely stocked with liquor and wine. 

But he drank. Daily. Maybe not a lot, maybe not even more than a glass or two of wine with dinner. But it was every day. 

The longer Enjolras took the time to observe, the more he noticed it. And slowly, the thought that it might be a problem started to creep into his conscious thought. 

Once it was there, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. He watched and worried and kept a very unhelpful running tally in his head. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure what to do with any of it. Normally, he’d talk things through with Combeferre or even Courfeyrac, but this wasn’t a problem with their relationship; this was solely about Grantaire and he didn’t feel right discussing him in this way with anyone else. Besides, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to tell him anything he didn’t already know. 

But he was nervous to bring it up with Grantaire, not sure how it would be received. Not well, was his natural inclination. 

Grantaire ended up forcing his hand one evening though. It was a Friday, they’d had dinner in and were settled together on the couch in front of the TV. Neither were watching whatever was on. Enjolras had his laptop out, doing research for an article. Grantaire was sprawled out next to him, playing a game on his phone and drinking his third glass of wine for the evening. Enjolras knew; he had counted. He stared at him for a little longer than he should have though, frowning with concern and still trying to figure out how to breach this subject in his head when Grantaire looked up. 

He set his phone down, took another sip of wine and raised his eyebrows. “What?” 

Enjolras blushed a little, caught, and shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing,” he murmured, turning back to his laptop. 

Grantaire sat up, set down his glass and turned to face him more fully. “No seriously, what? You’ve been…watching me for days. Why?” 

Anxious now, Enjolras shook his head and tried to smile at him. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He very much thought that they _needed_ to, but he didn’t _want_ to. And avoidance wasn’t a feeling he was used to as someone who faced problems head on. “It’s…nothing,” he answered softly. 

“No, it’s _something_ ,” he replied, tone just the tiniest bit sharp now. “And you’re driving me crazy, Apollo. Tell me.” 

Sighing, Enjolras closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table. He shut his eyes for a moment, dragged his hand through his hair and summoned his courage. “I just…since we’ve started living together, I’ve just been noticing how…how often you…drink,” he managed awkwardly. 

Grantaire went very still, but he didn’t look away, expression completely unreadable suddenly. He didn’t reply. 

“I mean, it’s not exactly new,” Enjolras went on, needing to fill the uncomfortable silence. “I _met_ you in a bar after all. And I know that almost everyone has always been pretty big on drinking together in college and at parties and at our meetings…and I know none of this is new. I just…it’s become more…obvious to me since we started living together.” He knew he was rambling and repeating himself, but he couldn’t think of a better way to say any of this, and Grantaire _still_ hadn’t said anything. “It’s every day…and not just when we’re all together…and I’ve just been sort of…concerned.” 

Grantaire didn’t answer him, but simply kept looking at him with that same unreadable expression. Enjolras wasn’t sure what to do so he reached out to touch him, knowing how much better they seemed to communicate when they were close. But Grantaire jumped back from him and crossed his arms almost protectively over his chest, finally breaking eye contact and looking away. 

Enjolras’ heart clenched painfully in his chest. “Please say something,” he whispered. 

For a few moments longer, Grantaire stayed silent. When he looked up again, Enjolras saw a note of panic in his eyes before his expression hardened. “What would you like me to say?” he asked flatly. 

“I don’t know…just…” he trailed off, unsure. 

He wasn’t sure how to handle any of this. He shrugged and tried to reach for Grantaire again, wanting to hold his hand or touch his shoulder or – more than anything – hug him tightly. But Grantaire avoided his touch again – something that hurt more than Enjolras could say – and stood up. He stared down at him for a few moments more, expression wavering between pain and anger, before grabbing his phone and his glass of wine and walking away. Enjolras watched him slip out onto their small balcony-slash-fire-escape, close the sliding-glass door behind him and drop down into one of the two chairs they kept there. He watched him drink deeply from his glass of wine and then light a cigarette. He watched him push earbuds into his ears and pull his hoodie up over his head to shut everything out. 

He suddenly wished he could take it all back. 

But Enjolras knew that if he followed him outside now, it would blow up into an argument. Part of him thought that might be a good idea. It couldn’t possibly hurt any more than how Grantaire had jumped away from his touch. But he didn’t want to push too hard. 

A few hours later, neither of them had moved from their respective spots on the couch and the balcony, and Enjolras didn’t know what to do. He could see that Grantaire was no longer listening to music, and he had long since finished his wine and cigarette, but he made no indication that he was coming inside anytime soon. 

Eventually, he turned off the TV and bravely walked over to the balcony. He opened it just a little bit, wincing at the way he saw Grantaire tense up. “It’s cold out here,” he said softly. 

Grantaire shrugged in reply. He didn’t look up. 

Enjolras felt helpless. “I’m going to bed,” he added, swallowing over the lump in his throat. 

“K,” Grantaire replied, shrugging again. 

Enjolras waited, just a few moments more, hoping for him to say something else or at the very least, look at him. But he did neither, so he closed the door quietly and walked away, not seeing the way Grantaire dropped his face into his hands as he left. 

Feeling numb, he brushed his teeth and washed his face and climbed into bed. Once there, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying his hardest not to cry, and curled up beneath the blankets. He didn’t expect sleep to come easily if at all, but despite his aching heart, he fell asleep shortly after, one arm stretched out to the other side of the bed, grasping the corner of Grantaire’s pillow tightly in his hand. 

At some point, Enjolras was woken up to the bed dipping and the feel of fingertips on his wrist. He opened his eyes and met Grantaire’s gaze in the dimly lit room. His face was splotchy, his eyes reddened, and Enjolras hated that he had done this. Truth, concerns…they didn’t seem to matter as much right now, but he knew he was responsible for the look lingering in his dark eyes. He turned his hand and linked their fingers together. Grantaire pushed closer quickly, slipping under the blankets and into his arms. Relief washed through Enjolras like a wave that Grantaire wasn’t pushing him away anymore. 

Neither of them said anything, but they held onto each other tightly until they fell asleep. 

Enjolras woke up the next morning to find Grantaire watching him quietly. His arm was slung over his waist and they were still pressed close together. He jumped slightly at the sound of thunder, relieved at the way a small smirk passed over Grantaire’s lips. 

They stayed quiet for a while, listening to the storm and watching one another. Enjolras ran his fingers up and down Grantaire’s arm, following the trail of his fingers with his eyes. For once in his life, he was at a complete loss for words, and had no idea what he should say or how to say it. 

“What is it you want me to do?” Grantaire asked eventually, his voice soft and sounding very tired. 

Enjolras looked up, heart reminding him of the pain he had felt last night when he saw the wary look in his eyes. “I don’t really know,” he answered truthfully. His worried observations of the past few weeks hadn’t gone much further than that. 

They were quiet again for a while, touching softly and occasionally meeting one another’s eyes with caution and uncertainty. It wasn’t the same feeling as last night – the helpless, desperate ache that he had done something terribly wrong. But Enjolras could still feel the hurt lingering in Grantaire’s every glance. And the subject at hand was looming dangerously. 

“You’re not wrong,” Grantaire whispered finally. This time his eyes were wide and scared, and it only took Enjolras a second to pull him close and hold him tightly. Grantaire buried his face against his neck and returned his embrace just as fiercely. 

“I don’t like being right,” Enjolras whispered back. 

Grantaire laughed harshly against his skin. “Yes, you do.” Enjolras felt tears on his neck now and it tore at his heart. 

“Not about this,” Enjolras replied, voice breaking a little bit as he pressed his lips to the top his head. 

It was a long time before either of them said anything else. Grantaire stayed pressed close against him, breathing steadily against his neck, arms tight around his waist. Enjolras knew he hadn’t fallen asleep again though because every time he let his hand brush across his neck, he could feel his fluttering pulse and it was anything but relaxed. He didn’t know what to do or say next, something that wasn’t exactly easy for him to accept. He liked solving problems, had dedicated so much of his life to figuring out ways to protest and fix things that were wrong. But this was so very different, and he wasn’t sure what he should do. There was a voice inside his head telling him that he really _couldn’t_ do anything…that this was Grantaire’s battle to fight if he even wanted to. But he didn’t think it could hurt to help and encourage…he just wasn’t sure where to start. 

Eventually, Grantaire pulled back a little to meet his eyes again. He looked tired and sad, and Enjolras wanted nothing more than to fix things for him. “I’ll help you,” he said abruptly. 

Grantaire said nothing at first, that same unreadable expression from the night before back on his face suddenly. “Help me…” he repeated slowly. 

That voice in Enjolras’ head was back again, telling him to tread carefully, but he brushed it aside. He nodded, reaching out to squeeze Grantaire’s hand tightly. “Yes, if you want to…cut back or…stop or…whatever.” His words were awkward but full of helpful intention. 

Grantaire swallowed hard and looked down, not saying anything further for a few minutes. When he looked up again, his eyes were full of fear and a weary sort of sadness for just a second before something more mundane took their place. 

It almost made Enjolras take back his words, because he knew there was more going through Grantaire’s head than he was sharing. Something that he thought he should really take the time to figure out. But then Grantaire smiled softly – a little sad still, but a smile nonetheless – and squeezed his hand and Enjolras pushed his doubts aside. 

“I can’t promise you anything,” he said softly, voice rough. “But I could…try. I don’t even know exactly what that will look like, but…” he trailed off, shrugging. 

Enjolras nodded eagerly, feeling encouraged…even if there was a small part of him still whispering that he was missing something that he should really pay attention to. “I’ll help you,” he repeated decidedly. He would do whatever he could to help, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that would mean. But he intended to face this the same way he would any issue…research the problem, find ways to overcome it, solicit help if needed. He knew he had to go slowly and figure things out _with_ Grantaire rather than just _for_ him, but he felt more confident already. He smiled and leaned in to press a warm kiss to Grantaire’s lips. “I love you, R,” he murmured. 

“I love you too,” Grantaire replied softly. Something sad and painful flashed through his eyes for just a second before he smiled, but it was gone so quickly that Enjolras pretended that he had imagined it. And if Grantaire’s fingers trembled a little when he touched his jaw, he figured it was nothing. 


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a little less than two weeks since Enjolras had voiced his concerns over Grantaire’s drinking, yet it seemed so much longer. Grantaire was hyperaware of every drink he took now, even when he wasn’t at home, and it was doing nothing except increasing his anxiety. He did everything he could to hide how he was feeling from Enjolras, not wanting him to see how the whole situation was affecting him. 

The night Enjolras had first mentioned his drinking, Grantaire had nearly panicked. He’d jumped away from his touch and protectively hidden himself on the balcony for hours, not able to face him, not able to acknowledge what he already knew to be true. Alcohol had been a part of his life since he was thirteen. Sometimes it was just background noise…a helpful distraction, a way to calm his nerves and soothe his anxiety. Other times it played a bigger part. The first two years of college was a good example…he’d lost both of his parents – not that they had a very close relationship, but it was still difficult – he was failing almost all of his non-art related classes, and he had just been introduced to Enjolras. And Grantaire would never blame Enjolras for his increase in drinking, but it was the whole situation that had only worsened it. Because Grantaire had fallen hopelessly in love with him almost from the first moment he’d seen him, and Enjolras had been anything but kind to him at first. 

Now though…their relationship was in a very good place, Grantaire enjoyed the work he did at the art studio as it also allowed him to paint, and he was happier than he had been in a very long time. But Enjolras wasn’t wrong. He still drank every day. Not a lot – it had been ages since he’d woken up with a hangover or had to miss work or anything quite so obvious. No, if he had to use clichéd lingo, he’d say that he was currently a pretty high-functioning alcoholic. 

But the fact that Enjolras had _noticed_ and was _concerned_ was terrifying. 

Because the thing he feared more than anything, that he could never admit out loud, was that Enjolras would leave him if he didn’t fix this. If he didn’t fix himself. 

Except now Enjolras was driving him crazy. 

Grantaire knew that he meant well, knew that he wanted nothing more than to help, but it was incredibly overwhelming. He hadn’t been lying when he had tentatively told Enjolras that he would try. He wasn’t sure what that would mean or where to start, but he’d meant it. Not _just_ because he wanted to make him happy – although that was the main reason – but because drinking wasn’t always calming or a relief the way it used to be. Sometimes he didn’t like the way it made him feel. It was a hard truth to admit, but true nonetheless. 

The trouble was they approached problems – and it was hard enough for Grantaire to admit that it was indeed a _problem_ – very differently. Grantaire needed time to think, to procrastinate, to wade in slowly and figure out how to approach it. Enjolras faced problems head on with the hopes of fixing them as quickly and efficiently as possible. 

Already he had not-so-subtly left him pamphlets on alcoholism and bought him a book on the same subject. Grantaire had also found a book he had bought for himself about ‘helping your loved one with a drinking problem’ or something along those lines. He had borrowed Enjolras’ laptop one evening to look up the address for a restaurant and had made the mistake of glancing at his browsing history. It was page after page of readings he’d done on alcoholism, substance-abuse, health issues related to excessive drinking, etc. He’d promptly closed the windows, given Enjolras his laptop back and had gone out onto the balcony to smoke, trying desperately to ignore how much he wanted a drink and how badly he didn’t want Enjolras to notice. 

Now though…he’d run into Joly when he was getting coffee, and he had let Grantaire know that he was always available if he needed assistance with getting sober. And Grantaire had frozen, heart pounding in his ears as he tried to smile and thank Joly and leave as quickly as possible. 

He wasn’t at all confident that he would be able to stop drinking. He was _positive_ he wouldn’t be able to if all of their friends knew and were watching. 

Enjolras was getting ready to leave when Grantaire got home. He was on his way to meet Combeferre for some sort of activist meeting…Grantaire couldn’t remember what it was for and he had no desire to try. Enjolras looked up from his laptop when he heard the door close, the smile on his lips quickly fading at the look of anger on Grantaire’s face. 

“Did you talk to Joly about me?” he snapped angrily. “About my… _drinking_?” He whispered the last word; it still hurt to say it out loud. “Who else did you tell? Combeferre? Courfeyrac?” 

Enjolras’ eyes widened and his cheeks flushed just a little bit. He shook his head. “No,” he answered. “Just Joly…I had…questions. I asked him not to tell anyone else,” he added quickly. 

Grantaire trusted Joly, knew that he wouldn’t say anything to the rest of their friends if Enjolras had asked him not to. It was a relief, but it wasn’t the point. 

“I only asked him for some advice,” Enjolras went on softly. He stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of Grantaire. “About how I can help and what the best way to go about this is.” 

“Stop,” he replied, holding up his hands and meeting Enjolras’ eyes with a glare. “So you just casually discuss _my_ problems, _my_ issue with Joly without thinking to ask me if I was okay with anyone else knowing?” 

Enjolras had the decency to look regretful; he shook his head and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he answered. “You’re right…I should’ve asked you first.” 

Grantaire shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to ward off the headache he could feel behind his eyes. He felt Enjolras step closer, and as much as he wanted to punish him and pull away, he wanted his touch more. He dropped his forehead against his shoulder as his arms came around his back to hold him close. He didn’t return the embrace but he let Enjolras hold him. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, lips against his ear. “There’s only so much help you can get from the internet without driving yourself crazy. I trust Joly’s advice more so I just asked him some questions. I should’ve…kept it more ambiguous and not have mentioned you.” 

Grantaire sighed and shook his head, pulling back. “Joly’s not an idiot. He would’ve known you were talking about me anyway.” 

“I just had some concerns that I thought he could help me answer.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t…” 

“What?” 

“Be so concerned.” 

Enjolras frowned. “How could I not be concerned?” 

“I don’t know!” Grantaire yelled in frustration. He felt trapped, wanted nothing more than a drink to calm himself down, especially now that it was once again the subject of a conversation he in no way wanted to have. 

“Why can’t I be concerned about you? I can’t worry about your health the same way you worry about me not sleeping enough?” Enjolras asked, a hint of his own frustration leaking into his voice. 

“No.” He knew he wasn’t being fair. 

“Why not?” 

“Because you _could_ sleep more regularly if you had to. I can’t--” he cut off abruptly. They both heard the words he hadn’t said. 

Enjolras stepped closer and reached out tentatively, fingers gentle against the side of Grantaire’s neck. “Grantaire, I…” 

Grantaire shook his head and looked up to give him a weak smile. “I know you have to go,” he said, changing the subject. “I’ll be fine.” He wouldn’t be, not tonight, but he couldn’t do this right now. 

Enjolras frowned and laid both of his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders. “I can stay here, R…” 

“No,” he replied quickly, trying to keep his voice even. “You’ve been working on this for weeks.” In truth, Grantaire still couldn’t even remember what Enjolras was doing tonight, but he knew it was something important to him. Some cause or problem that he and most likely several of their other idealistic friends had deemed worthy of attention. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated. 

“I’ll be gone all night though,” Enjolras replied. “Will probably stay over at ‘Ferre’s coz it’s closer.” 

_Thank God,_ was all Grantaire could think. And the thought _hurt_ _so much_ , because he hated that he wanted to be away from Enjolras. 

“It’s fine,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “I’ll text you if I need something.” 

Enjolras still hesitated, unease bright in his blue eyes. But Grantaire reached out for him, forced his hands not to tremble, and pulled him close. He kissed him warmly, fingers tightening in his curls, the other arm around his waist. He smiled against his mouth, and when they pulled apart he pressed their foreheads together for a moment. 

“I’ll be okay for tonight, Apollo,” he said softly. He hated himself for lying, for wanting Enjolras to leave. But he needed just a little bit of time away from his concern. “I promise.” 

Enjolras stared at him for just a few moments more, nodded and leaned in for another quick kiss. “Please call me if you need anything,” he asked quietly. “I’ll come home. I love you, Grantaire.” 

There was so much warmth in those words, so much honesty, that it made Grantaire’s heart hurt. His greatest insecurity had not changed in several years – that he wasn’t and would never be good enough for Enjolras, and that someday he would realize it. To hear the conviction in his words now tore at his heart. He wanted more than anything to prove his insecurity wrong. 

“I love you too, Apollo.” 

~*~*~ 

He texted Feuilly and Bahorel as soon as Enjolras left. He wasn’t completely sure if they were attending the same event as Enjolras tonight, but thankfully they were not this time. And when he asked the two roommates if he could come over they both agreed. 

He hated himself just a little bit more for what he intended to do with the evening. 

He showed up with a forced smile and a bottle of whiskey. There was only so much distraction that drinking alone could provide. Drinking with friends had always been his choice. And they were happy to get drunk with him; the three of them stayed up late drinking and playing video games like they were in college again. And Grantaire was more than happy to ignore everything else in his life for the moment. 

They were probably the most easygoing of all of his friends and he knew they would never press him to talk about his problems in the way say, Jehan or Courfeyrac would. But they were still part of the same co-dependent, nosy family. Inevitably, they asked. 

“I know our fearless leader is at a rally with the two C’s tonight,” Feuilly said. “But why are you here instead of at home?” 

“No reason,” he answered with a shrug. “Boredom?” 

They both shrugged in return and happily poured him another drink when he held up his glass. If they knew he was lying, they didn’t press the issue. They were also happy to let him sleep on their couch when it was nearing two in the morning and none of them could keep their eyes open or their words from sounding slurred anymore. 

Bahorel got him a blanket and as he reached up to turn off the lamp on the table, Grantaire stopped him and grabbed his wrist. “Please don’t tell Enjolras…” 

Bahorel frowned. “Tell him what?” 

Grantaire shook his head as he laid back down. He wasn’t quite sure. “That I was here tonight. That we…got drunk…please?” 

His eyes were already closing, but he felt Bahorel squeeze his shoulder. “I won’t tell him, R.” 

Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief and turned onto his side, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders and passing out. 

When he woke up he felt worse, but he forced himself to go home, shower and drink three cups of coffee. He smiled when Enjolras came home and told him his night was uneventful when he asked. He powered through a pounding headache all day – figured it was a deserving punishment – and kept up the lie. 

Despite being exhausted it took him hours to fall asleep that night. He laid awake next to Enjolras and watched him sleep, heart aching terribly in his chest for how he had lied to him all day. It hurt worse than his all-day hangover had, and he didn’t want to do it again. 

He just wasn’t sure how to get through this. 


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn’t sure what to do. Normally, he’d call Combeferre and ask for his advice or just ramble on until his best friend interrupted to calm him down and say something helpful. But he had promised Grantaire that he wouldn’t talk about this with anyone else until he was ready. 

It had been about a month since they had first talked about Grantaire’s drinking. Enjolras knew he was trying – saw evidence of it daily – but he also knew he was suffering. Maybe not so much physically from drinking less, but he was hurting. Sometimes he caught a panicked, sad look in his eyes and it hurt. He’d tried to get Grantaire to open up more, to talk to him about what he was going through, but he so often refused or changed the subject, or most unhelpfully, told him he was fine. 

There was a wall up between them that hadn’t been there since before they’d started a relationship. They had worked so hard on communicating better with one another, so it hurt terribly that they were back to these silences and misunderstood feelings. 

More than anything he wanted to help, to know how Grantaire was feeling, how he was dealing with all of this. But Grantaire wouldn’t let him in. And now, after the unfortunate conversation he’d had this afternoon, he was feeling even less sure that he knew what was going on with him. 

He shut his laptop abruptly when he heard their apartment door being unlocked. Page after page of alcoholism and depression and drug-use were nothing but unhelpful and feeding into his anxiety. He needed to find out the truth from Grantaire. 

“Hey,” Grantaire called out, taking off his coat and hanging it up in the hall closet before joining him in the kitchen. He squeezed his shoulder as he walked past and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. 

Enjolras watched him quietly as he grabbed a piece of leftover, cold pizza from the fridge and a glass of water. He wasn’t sure how to start this conversation. 

Grantaire sat down across from him at their small kitchen table and narrowed his eyes. He took another bite of pizza and stared back at him for a few moments. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice that wouldn’t have been there before. It _always_ seemed to be there now, and Enjolras hated it. 

“Have you ever done drugs?” he blurted out. So much for easing into the conversation slowly. 

Grantaire froze, eyes widening slightly. “What?” he sounded weary. 

“I’m just asking,” Enjolras replied defensively. “I’ve read a lot about how…alcoholism can often go hand in hand with drugs.” 

Grantaire pursed his lips together and stared back at him, that horrible, blank, unreadable expression in his eyes again. “Did you now.” 

“R…I’m just trying to help. To understand…” he said, knowing he sounded frustrated, wishing that he didn’t have to. 

“What is this about? Yes, I’ve done drugs,” he snapped. “I’ve smoked weed every once in a while, but it’s been at least a year since the last time. I don’t particularly like the way it makes me feel. I took ecstasy once or twice at parties in college…probably not any _you_ were invited to,” he added. “Does that answer your question?” 

“Nothing…else?” He knew he was pushing, but he didn’t know what to believe. 

“No!” he shouted. “What the fuck is this about, Enjolras?” 

“I saw Montparnasse this afternoon,” he answered, flatly. “At Jehan’s coffee shop.” 

“Oh this should be good,” Grantaire replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. He waved his hand, eyes flashing angrily. “Please continue.” 

“He said he has your…stuff. And he refused to tell me what it was, but he said you’d already paid him so he just needed to know if you want him to drop it off at the studio or meet him somewhere else,” he said in a rush. The whole thing sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, but he hadn’t been able to get the very uneasy conversation out of his head. 

Grantaire stared at him for a few moments before laughing loudly…it sounded anything but happy. He pushed his hand through his dark curls and looked at him incredulously, anger and sadness blending together in his dark eyes. “So you think I’m buying drugs from Montparnasse?!” 

“I don’t know!” Enjolras replied, yelling. “You don’t tell me…anything. I don’t know,” he repeated, voice breaking a little. 

Grantaire dug his phone out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table between them. He scrolled quickly through his contacts, dialed Montparnasse and pressed the speaker button. 

“Hey R, what’s up?” he asked, voice low and just a little bit smarmy. Enjolras was glad Grantaire hadn’t chosen to facetime with him. 

“Will you bring the paints to the studio tomorrow? I’ll be there all day,” he said, eyes never once leaving Enjolras’. 

“Sure. You know I ran into Enjolras earlier and--” 

“So I’ve heard,” Grantaire cut him off sharply. “Why is it you decided to be so vague on the _stuff_ I was buying from you?” 

Montparnasse laughed. “Because he was easy to fool, and I thought it was highly amusing to let your golden boyfriend think you were buying heroin or some shit off of me,” he answered, sounding incredibly proud of himself. “Am I on speaker by the way? Is he there now? Hi, Enjolras!” he called cheerfully, still sounding like he was seconds away from laughing hysterically. “I don’t actually sell drugs you know! But if you need something I know a guy and--” 

“Fuck off, ‘Parnasse,” Grantaire snapped and jabbed angrily at his phone to hang up over his laughter. 

Enjolras was flushed from anger and embarrassment and regret. He looked up and met Grantaire’s angry gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, ashamed. 

“Save it,” Grantaire hissed. “Maybe in the future you could try to trust me instead of making wild assumptions from Montparnasse’s stupid fucking mind games, huh?” 

He stood up abruptly, grabbed his phone and stormed out of the kitchen. He went out onto the balcony and closed the glass door behind him. Enjolras watched him run his fingers through his hair, standing perfectly still for a few moments before he dropped into one of the chairs and lit a cigarette. 

Enjolras felt…awful, not to mention foolish. He’d played so easily into Montparnasse’s hands, but he knew it wouldn’t have been so easy if he was not already struggling to understand everything Grantaire was going through. But it didn’t matter. He had approached the whole thing already assuming his boyfriend’s guilt instead of just asking. And had it been a few months ago, he knew he never would’ve thought the same way. 

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and dropped his head into his hands, swallowing hard over a lump in his throat. He hated this. Hated fighting with Grantaire, hated feeling so helpless and not knowing what to do. He knew he had to fix this, but he also knew that if he went outside right now, Grantaire wouldn’t listen to him. Enjolras hardly blamed him. 

Wiping quickly at his eyes, he went into the living room, glancing through the windows at Grantaire’s unmoving form for just a second, and then into their bedroom to find his phone. He sat cross-legged on the bed and let his thumb hover over Combeferre’s name for a few moments before he pressed it. He wouldn’t betray Grantaire’s trust and talk about how he was struggling with alcoholism, but he desperately needed to talk to his best friend. 

“Hi, Enjolras. What’s up?” 

“Hi ‘Ferre,” he replied softly, drawing in a shaky breath and shutting his eyes. 

“Everything okay?” Combeferre asked, sounding concerned. Typical of him to hear so much in so few words. 

“No,” Enjolras answered. He shut his eyes and ran his hand over his face. With his other hand, he gripped the phone tightly against his ear. 

“Tell me,” Combeferre said gently. 

“I can’t,” he whispered, afraid to speak any louder lest his voice break. “It’s…not my… _issue_ to tell. And I’ve already done enough wrong without also betraying his trust.” 

“Grantaire?” he asked. 

Enjolras nodded, forgot Combeferre couldn’t see him. “Mmm-hmm” he answered then. 

“Did you guys argue about something?” 

“Not really,” Enjolras answered. This was so different from all of their fights before; he couldn’t give Combeferre the whole story, but he didn’t want him to think it was just another instance of their opinions and beliefs clashing. “I just…I don’t know what to do, ‘Ferre. And he won’t talk to me,” he said softly. He pulled his knees up to his chest now and leaned forward, pressing his fingers against his eyes. He did not want to cry. 

“Sometimes it takes a while to talk about difficult issues,” Combeferre answered gently. “I don’t know what he’s struggling with or what the two of you are dealing with, but maybe give him some time. Let him know you’re there for him, but when he’s ready.” 

“I’m trying to be there for him,” he protested. 

“I’m sure you are, but Enjolras sometimes you can be…overwhelming,” he said, sounding slightly amused. “Give him some space.” 

Enjolras hummed in reply, not sure if he was ready to agree with Combeferre yet or not. He dropped his face against his palm again and sighed. “Talk to me about something else,” he pleaded softly. 

They talked for a while longer and Enjolras felt marginally better by the time he hung up. He set his phone on the nightstand and froze when he heard the balcony door open and shut. He thought about Combeferre’s advice and forced himself to stay put. He took off his jeans, changed into a more comfortable t-shirt and got into bed with a book. Reading proved to be difficult however, as he was actively listening for any noise Grantaire made in the apartment. He heard the refrigerator open and close, the sound of the floor boards creaking and then the television being turned on. More than anything, he wanted to get up and apologize again. He wanted to hold him close and figure out a way to get rid of this horrible wall that seemed to have gone up between them. 

At some point while still listening closely for any sounds coming from the living room, he fell asleep, book against his chest. He stirred much later, felt Grantaire carefully lifting the book off of his chest and pulling the blankets up around him. The gentleness of both actions tugged painfully at his heart and he blinked his eyes open slowly. 

“Sorry to wake you,” Grantaire murmured as he tossed his clothes onto a chair and pulled a t-shirt over his head. “Go back to sleep.” 

Enjolras simply looked at him in response and reached his hand out to his side of the bed. Grantaire stared at him for a long time, eyes unreadable in the dimness of the room. Eventually, he sighed and climbed into bed, sinking back into the pillow and dragging his hands over his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m…sorry.” 

Grantaire didn’t answer, but after a few moments, he reached over and grasped Enjolras’ hand tightly in his own. And when he shifted closer, Enjolras went eagerly into his arms, burying his face against his neck and breathing him in deeply. He held him tightly, wanting nothing more than to be closer, to feel Grantaire all around him. He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Grantaire’s fingers smooth through his hair. A part of him felt like he should be the one comforting Grantaire, not the other way around, but he also just wanted to be close. 

They fell asleep tangled together, and Enjolras had no idea if anything had been resolved. When he woke up the next morning, Grantaire was gone, but there was a cup of hot coffee and a handwritten note waiting on his nightstand. 

_Went to the studio early…something I had to paint. Talk later?_

_I forgive you._

_xoxo, R_

Enjolras squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Grantaire’s pillow to breathe him in. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - mentions of underage-drinking/drug-use in this chapter.

Grantaire felt marginally better after two cups of coffee. He felt better still when his hands and most of the canvas before him was covered in paint. He hadn’t slept well. Enjolras’ unfounded suspicions had hurt, but the current wall between them hurt more. He knew Enjolras felt it too…he’d said as much when arguing that Grantaire wouldn’t tell him anything. And Enjolras was _trying_. He asked Grantaire how he was feeling, if there was anything he wanted to talk about, if there was anything he could help with. It tore at Grantaire’s heart because he could feel the concern and the genuine desire to help behind all of his words. He felt the love Enjolras had for him every time. And yet, he usually only answered with a shrug or an unhelpful proclamation about being fine, and no there wasn’t anything he needed Enjolras to help with. 

He knew he wasn’t being fair and he knew he was hurting him, but fear was a powerful motivator. And he couldn’t bring himself to ask because he dreaded the answer. 

_If I can’t stop drinking, will you leave me?_

It plagued him night and day, and he was desperate to fix it – to fix himself – before he ever had to hear the reply. 

But he could also see the sadness in Enjolras’ eyes…the desperate uncertainty that must be driving him mad. Grantaire knew that unspoken signs were difficult for him. Communication in general was sometimes difficult for him unless he was writing an article or addressing a crowd. It had taken the two of them a long time to simply move past hostility and cruel words to friendship. Everything that had come after from attraction to love had come a little easier. But only a little. 

He didn’t want to hurt him anymore than he already had…he knew they had to talk, especially after yesterday. But he wasn’t sure where to start. 

“R? Are you here?” 

He dunked his paintbrush into a cup of water and turned around with a smile. “Hey, Ep, what are you doing here?” he asked. 

She smiled back and held out a small bag to him. “I have your paints from Montparnasse. He’s outside but refused to come in…said you might try to punch him in the face and it was too early for him to kick your ass,” she explained. There was amusement on her face but also a question in her eyes. 

He took the bag from her, anger flashing over his features briefly at the mention of Montparnasse. “I don’t have time for his mind games,” he muttered. 

She tilted her head to the side and stepped a little closer. “What did he do?” 

It was definitely concern in her eyes now, and Grantaire was tired. He shook his head and gave her a small smile. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

The worry was still there on her face, but she didn’t press. Of all of their friends, she would never be the one to press. She understood him in ways that other people couldn’t and he was forever grateful for her friendship. “You wanna come out later?” she asked. “We could get dinner…bar hop a bit after. It’s been a while.” 

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t tonight…I’m sorry, Ep,” he said quietly. 

She wouldn’t press if he didn’t want to answer, but she _would_ ask. “Are you okay, Grantaire? You’ve been kind of distant lately…is everything all right? Is it Enjolras?” 

Lowering his eyes, he shook his head, a small smile turning up his lips. Of all of their friends, she had been the last to approve of his relationship with Enjolras. She knew better than anyone just how in love Grantaire had been with him and for how long, and just how painful Enjolras’ ignorance and disdain of him had been. Part of that had been because Grantaire had often poured his heart out to her – usually while fall-down drunk – and the other part was because she knew just how much it hurt to love someone who didn’t love you back. At least Marius had always been kind to her though. She hadn’t trusted Enjolras’ change of heart as quickly or easily as Grantaire had. So even now, years later, when she knew that things were different, she was still quick to be suspicious on his behalf. And he loved her more for it. 

“No,” he answered softly. “I’m…I’ve been trying to stop…drinking,” he said, surprised by how easy it was to tell her. “Or at least cut back right now. It’s not exactly easy.” 

Shock flitted over her face for a moment before dissolving into warm concern, and she stepped closer, reaching out a hand to squeeze his shoulder. “Can I do something to help?” 

He felt tears sting his eyes and he shook his head quickly. “No, Eponine,” he whispered. “But I appreciate that more than I can say.” 

“And Enjolras…is he…?” 

Grantaire half-laughed, half-sobbed and looked at her with a helpless expression. “He’s trying to help,” he said, voice a little hoarse now. “He’s _desperate_ to help, Ep…and I just can’t…I haven’t been able to…sometimes his concern is overwhelming, you know? And I hate hurting him, hate that I’ve lied to him, that there’s this wall up between us that we worked so hard to dismantle the first time around. I don’t…I don’t know how to talk to him all of the sudden and it _hurts_ ,” he explained desperately. The tears that had been stinging his eyes fell over his lashes now, and she reached out quickly to pull him against her small frame and hold him tightly. 

“He loves you,” she said softly after a few minutes. She pulled back slightly, letting her hands run down his arms to squeeze both of his hands. “I know I’m not always the first person to point that out, but I know he does. But I also know that sometimes he can be a bit much…” 

He laughed…it still sounded watery but it felt good nonetheless. “That’s an understatement,” he agreed. 

She smiled and squeezed his hands again. “Let him listen,” she went on. “Tell him not to interrupt if you have to…start with something small.” 

Grantaire held tightly to her hands and looked at her desperately. “But what if he…” 

She shook her head and reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. “He won’t.” 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!” 

She shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not, but I know you need to let him in. Clearly, it’s not helping to keep things from him, right?” 

He shook his head. She smiled gently and stepped forward to give him a hug. He hugged her back eagerly and drew in a shaky breath. Their smiles were interrupted by Eponine’s phone ringing; she looked down and rolled her eyes before cutting off the sound. 

“It’s just ‘Parnasse. He can wait another minute. Will you be okay, Grantaire?” she asked. 

Nodding, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek before stepping away. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, not entirely sure if he believed himself or not. “And Ep…I’ll try. To talk to him.” 

She smiled. “Good luck, R. Call me if you need anything, okay?” 

“I will.” 

Once she was gone, he stared after her for a few minutes before turning away and gathering up his paint brushes to wash. He did want to talk with Enjolras – he had said as much in his note to him this morning. But he needed a few more moments of routine and simplicity first. So he took his time cleaning up, setting his canvas up to dry and making sure everything was put away before he finally left. 

He picked up lunch on his way home and thought about what he wanted to say. He found Enjolras, as was usual, on his laptop, typing furiously, a small frown on his face. But he looked up when Grantaire opened the door, his expression softening. 

“I brought sandwiches,” Grantaire said, holding up the bag and taking them to the kitchen. “You can keep typing…I’ll bring them in in a sec.” He took his time, wanting a few more minutes to himself to gather his courage. He knew what he wanted to talk about, he just wasn’t sure what to expect. 

He sat down next to Enjolras on the couch and set their food on the coffee table in front of them. Before he could say anything he felt Enjolras’ fingers in his hair, brushing against his forehead. 

“You have paint in your hair,” he murmured fondly. 

Grantaire felt a rush of warmth and he turned towards him and smiled. Enjolras’ eyes were shy and warm and Grantaire was struck suddenly with how much he missed him. Yes, they lived together and saw each other every day. But the last few weeks had been hard, and he hadn’t quite realized how much distance they’d put between one another. Leaning in, he brushed his lips gently against Enjolras’ mouth and ran his fingertips across his jaw. 

“What did you paint?” Enjolras asked. 

“Eh, it’s sort of abstract…a lot of color. I’m not sure if it makes sense or not. I’ll have to give it another look. What are you writing?” 

“Speech…there’s a fundraiser for climate-change next week. The one Courfeyrac organized through his job…he asked me to talk.” 

“Well, if anyone can inspire it’s you, Apollo.” 

They were quiet for a little while after that, side by side, eating lunch, Enjolras still scrolling through something on his laptop, Grantaire flipping channels on the TV. But this silence was… _comfortable_. And Grantaire had missed it terribly. 

He waited a little longer, knew he was stalling but was loathe to give up the ease of this moment. But he gathered his courage, hoped that what he wanted to talk about would only increase their closeness and not drive them further apart. 

Taking a deep breath, he muted the TV and turned to face Enjolras, folding one knee up under his other leg. “Did you get my note?” he asked softly. 

Enjolras shut his laptop and set it on the table, also turning to face him, eyes bright and eager, but there was a note of hesitance on his face. He nodded. “I did. Thanks for the coffee too.” 

Grantaire smiled softly. “I know how grumpy you can be without it.” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. 

“Grantaire…” Enjolras’ voice was gentle and he reached out and rested his hand against his leg. 

“I meant what I wrote…about talking later,” he replied. “I’m just trying to figure out where to start.” 

Enjolras said nothing, but he was waiting…patiently Grantaire could tell. He knew it must be difficult for him not to push and the fact that he was trying meant so much to him. 

“I started drinking when I was thirteen,” he said abruptly. He figured it was easier to start quickly…like ripping off a bandage. “I had a couple of friends over and we decided it was a good idea to open up my parents’ liquor cabinet. I’d like to tell you it was their idea, but…” he trailed off and shrugged. “I don’t remember actually drinking that much, but it was the first time and we got horribly drunk.” 

“Did your parents catch you?” Enjolras asked. 

Grantaire smiled a little and nodded, running his hand through his curls. “Yeah, they came home late from wherever they were and found us.” 

“Were they pissed?” 

Sighing, Grantaire shook his head. “See that’s the thing…they weren’t. They were fairly indifferent…let my friends sleepover, told us not to be too loud. The next day my dad told me that if I was going to drink sometimes that was fine, just to not go overboard. I’ve always wondered if they hadn’t been so easygoing about the whole thing if I wouldn’t have ended up…” he trailed off, shrugged again and avoided Enjolras' eyes for a few moments. 

“So after that I wouldn’t say I was drinking every day, because I was still fairly involved in orchestra and randomly, biology club, but it was often enough. Weekends with friends – it spread quickly that my parents didn’t really care about drinking as long as we didn’t get too loud – the occasional party. One time a friend of mine snuck rum into a school dance…like it was a fucking John Hughes movie or something,” he went on, sounding faintly amused. 

He paused again, needing a break, and leaned back against the couch to shut his eyes for a few moments. He felt Enjolras’ hand on his shoulder, felt him move closer, and he turned eagerly, just wanting to be nearer. 

“Can we circle back to the part about you being involved in orchestra?” Enjolras asked. 

Grantaire laughed and was reminded intensely of just how much he loved this man he shared his life with. Enjolras could be hugely oblivious to so many things, but sometimes he knew exactly the correct thing to say. He opened his eyes and grinned at the blonde, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“What instrument did you play?” he asked. He reached out absently, wrapping one of Grantaire’s curls around his finger. 

“Viola.” 

“Can you still play?” 

“Hmm, maybe. I haven’t tried in a long time…it might be pretty rough going.” 

They sat together quietly again for a while, absently moving closer until Enjolras was practically in his lap, legs draped over his thighs, hands brushing, occasionally twining through one another’s hair. It had been weeks since they’d found their way together so closely and Grantaire had missed it more than he had realized. 

“So high school was more of the same,” he went on eventually. “I…I was unhappy a lot of the time,” quieter now, struck suddenly by feelings and memories he didn’t particularly want to relive. But he went on. “I wish…I think…if someone had noticed it more…or if I had taken it for what it was, things might have been different. But…mental health wasn’t quite as big of a thing back then, and it was easy for everyone – myself included – to write off depression as just another angsty teenager.” 

He stopped again and leaned closer to Enjolras, who held him eagerly. _This_ they had talked about before: his struggle with depression. It was, for whatever reason, easier than talking about his drinking. 

“So most of my friends ended up being stoners,” he went on, voice a little rough now. It was getting harder to go on, but he couldn’t seem to stop either. “I tried it of course, but I didn’t like the way weed made me feel. I felt lazy, but not relaxed, and it never stopped me from…thinking too much. Alcohol did. It blurred the edges and made the worst of my thoughts and feelings go away. It…it still does. That’s why…that’s why it’s so hard to stop,” he managed, voice breaking a little. 

He let his face drop down against Enjolras’ shoulder, drawing in a shaky breath and gripping tightly to his shirt. Enjolras wrapped him up securely in his arms and pressed his lips to the side of his head. He didn’t say anything and Grantaire was glad, trying hard not to shake apart in his arms…trying hard to ignore how much he’d love a drink _right now_. 

They stayed that way for a long time. Enjolras’ hands against him were soothing, one in his hair, the other rubbing small circles into his back. He breathed him in for a bit longer, face pressed into his neck, and let himself be held. 

Eventually, he pulled back slightly and smiled weakly at the blonde. “I meant what I said, Enjolras,” he said softly. “About wanting to quit. I just…I can’t…I don’t think I can do this the way you want me to. I need some…space and time. I need to do it at my own pace…and I appreciate your concern and willingness to help more than I can say, but I need you to…take a step back.” His voice was scratchy and he had to swallow hard over the lump in his throat. 

But Enjolras’ eyes were warm if a little bit watery – not frustrated or disappointed as Grantaire had feared. He cupped Grantaire’s jaw in his palm and leaned in to press their foreheads together. Grantaire gave up trying to be strong and squeezed his eyes shut over the tears he could feel threatening. He buried his face in Enjolras’ neck again and breathed him in through shaky, watery breaths. 

Enjolras held him tightly for a long time. “I can do that,” he murmured, lips moving against the top of his head, his fingers tracing small circles into his neck. “Take a step back I mean…” 

Grantaire stayed where he was for a while longer, comfortable and content in the other man’s arms. When he drew back, he wiped a hand over his eyes and reached out to tug on one of Enjolras’ unruly curls. “Can you?” 

Enjolras frowned a little and Grantaire leaned in to kiss away his pending-pout. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to doubt you, I just…I know how you are. But,” he went on before Enjolras could protest, “I appreciate your willingness to try.” 

“I _will_ try,” Enjolras answered, conviction coloring his voice. 

He had a look in his eyes that Grantaire knew well. The look that said he meant what he said, that he would fight for it, that he was committed. It was a little frightening because Grantaire didn’t want to be one of his causes, but at the same time he felt stronger for knowing how much Enjolras meant what he said. 

And to be fair…he had fallen in love with that look a long time ago. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, dropping his head back to his shoulder and settling against him. Enjolras kissed the top of his head and gripped tightly to his hand. 


	5. Chapter 5

Things were better after that, but still difficult. Enjolras watched but tried very hard to not hover. It was hard for him to give Grantaire the space he had promised, but he knew he had to. He knew how differently they worked when it came to solving problems…he had known that for years. The very start of their relationship had involved Grantaire artfully dismantling all of his best laid arguments and points. But more than that, he knew they approached things very differently…and he was going to have to force himself to accept that this was Grantaire’s battle to fight. 

And he knew that he was working on it. Grantaire told him that he had met with Joly to ask for advice and information and they had a long talk. Joly wanted to make sure he wasn’t trying to do things too quickly and wanted to make sure he had the support he needed. Enjolras knew he still struggled though, knew he hadn’t stopped all together yet. And despite their closeness, he wished that Grantaire would open up to him more. He didn’t want to push him into talking too much since he had promised, but sometimes he wished he knew better what he was feeling. 

Above all else, he missed Grantaire. They lived together, they saw one another every day, they talked…but despite things being better than they had been there was still a wall between them that hadn’t been before. It was smaller now, but still there…and Enjolras hated it. 

So when Grantaire told him that he’d be home a bit later than usual one day, Enjolras forced himself not to ask why or where he would be. He just said okay and kissed him before they both left home for the day. But now he was home by himself, sitting on the couch and rewriting the same paragraph in an article over and over because he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. When he glanced at the time and saw that it was only ten o’clock, he pressed his palms to his eyes and forced himself to calm down. 

He didn’t know what time was considered too early to worry and the last thing he wanted to do was start another argument. But his mind was in overdrive and despite trying really hard not to, he was already worried. He knew it wasn’t that late…Enjolras could clearly remember all of his friends in college not even being ready to leave to go somewhere at this hour. And even now, it wasn’t exactly unusual for Grantaire to get home closer to midnight sometimes if he was out with friends, but those nights had all involved freely-flowing alcohol. 

“What time should I start worrying if Grantaire isn’t home yet?” he asked when Courfeyrac answered the phone. 

“Hello to you too, E,” he replied. “It’s barely ten-fifteen, why do you sound so panicked?” 

“I’m not panicked.” 

He could _feel_ Courfeyrac rolling his eyes through the phone. 

“I know you, you sound panicked. Why are you worried? It’s not exactly late.” 

He swallowed hard and shook his head, feeling ridiculous. His friend was right. 

“Enjolras?” The background noise on Courfeyrac’s end was suddenly quieter and Enjolras had to wonder where he was and if he had interrupted something. “Is everything okay?” 

“It’s fine,” he answered quickly. “I’m sorry to interrupt…are you out for dinner?” he asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject. 

“It’s just a few drinks with coworkers, nothing important. What’s wrong?” Courfeyrac repeated. 

“Nothing,” he insisted. “I’m overreacting. I’m sorry to call.” 

“You can always call me, you know that,” he answered gently. “Please tell me what’s wrong and why you’re worried about Grantaire.” 

Enjolras felt his chest tighten and he pulled his knees close and shut his eyes. He wished he had someone to talk with about this, but he had promised Grantaire he wouldn’t until he was ready. “I can’t,” he whispered. “He’s just…going through some things and I promised I wouldn’t mention it to anyone else until he was ready.” 

“That’s fair,” Courfeyrac answered. “But what about you? If he’s going through something then I know you are too and you should be able to talk about it.” 

“I’m fine, Courf.” 

“Are you? I thought you were worried.” 

“I am, but I’m also overreacting I think.” 

“You’re allowed to worry though. Do you want me to come over?” 

“No!” he insisted quickly. “It’ll be fine.” 

Courfeyrac didn’t answer right away and Enjolras knew he was contemplating what to do next. It would be a miracle if he didn’t receive multiple calls or texts from half of their friends after this. 

“Maybe twelve-thirty?” Courfeyrac said. 

“What?” 

“I’m just answering your initial question…I’d say you’re allowed to worry if he isn’t home by then.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Enjolras, seriously…can I do something or--” 

“No,” he replied quickly. “But thank you for…I’ll talk to you soon okay?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Enjoy your drinks.” 

He hung up and tossed his phone down onto the couch beside him, running his hands through his hair and breathing deeply. He felt ridiculous. 

He picked up his laptop again and tried to shut everything else out and concentrate on what he was writing. But he only got through two sentences before his thoughts betrayed him again. Frustrated, he shut off the computer and plugged it in to charge, made himself a cup of tea and curled up on the couch, trying desperately to focus on the TV. 

Without meaning to, his attention drifted to his phone and before he could contemplate his actions, he had sent Grantaire a text. 

_Just checking to see what time you’ll be home?_

It was a perfectly reasonable request, but in his own mind, after everything they’d discussed, it sounded intrusive and desperate. But once he started, he couldn’t stop, and he sent him more texts, trying to sound nonchalant and knowing he was failing. He set his phone down for only a moment to take his mug into the kitchen and nearly tripped trying to get back into the living room when he heard his text notification. 

Except it was just Courfeyrac asking if he was sure he was okay and then a series of heart emojis. 

It was only about a half-hour after that when he heard Grantaire’s voice drifting up from the sidewalk. Dizzy with relief, he rushed over to look out through the cracked-open balcony door to see him chatting with Bahorel on the sidewalk. He squeezed his eyes shut and quickly went back to the couch, knowing he couldn’t eavesdrop, no matter how curious he was. 

A few minutes later their apartment door opened and Grantaire fixed him with a flat stare as he slipped off his jacket. “You know I still get all of the texts when I turn my phone back on, right?” 

Enjolras winced, flushing with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I was just…worried. I shouldn’t…I am trying to step back, I was just…worried,” he repeated, shrugging helplessly. 

Grantaire sighed and toed off his shoes by the door. “I know,” he answered. “It’s okay, Enjolras, really.” 

Enjolras bit his lip and watched as Grantaire tossed his keys on the small table next to the door and swiped his phone with his thumb as he walked into the kitchen. “Did you eat?” he called. 

“Yes,” Enjolras answered. He was dying to ask Grantaire where he had been and what he’d been doing, but he knew better. Had their roles been reversed he would’ve hated those exact questions. 

Grantaire joined him on the couch a few minutes later with a sandwich and a glass of water. He didn’t say anything for a while, eating and watching television and pointedly ignoring the worried glances Enjolras kept trying not to throw his way. 

Finally, he turned to face him and fixed him with a flat stare. There was something pulling on the edge of his expression that made Enjolras want to reach for him, but he kept his hands to himself for the time being. “I’m fine, Apollo, really,” he said. “Hell, it’s not even midnight yet.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

Grantaire sighed again and rubbed his hand over his face. He looked tired and…something else that Enjolras was trying to figure out. “So I also had this text from Courfeyrac asking what I was up to tonight and then a second one asking if I was being good to you. I…wasn’t sure how to answer that. I mean, his messages don’t always make the most sense on a normal night, but when it came in the midst of your seventeen messages…” 

“I didn’t send seventeen!” he protested. “And I didn’t tell Courfeyrac anything,” he rushed to add. “I was just…a _little_ concerned and wanted to ask him if I was just being paranoid. I didn’t go into any specifics,” he insisted. 

Grantaire frowned, a look of sad realization flashing through his eyes that Enjolras didn’t quite understand. “It’s okay, Enjolras,” he said softly. He moved closer suddenly and reached out to squeeze his arm. “I’m not angry with you.” 

Enjolras exhaled slowly and leaned forward to drop his head onto Grantaire’s shoulder. He slipped his arms around his waist and held him tightly, feeling infinitely better when Grantaire hugged him back. They stayed wrapped up together for a long time, but when he eventually made a move to pull back, Grantaire tightened his grip and kept him close. 

“I went to an AA meeting,” he choked out suddenly. “That’s where I was tonight.” 

Enjolras froze. He felt Grantaire trembling now, his fingers digging into his back, his breath harsh and uneven. He didn’t let another moment pass before he pulled him closer, one arm firmly around his back, the other smoothing through his hair and across the back of his neck. He wanted nothing more than to comfort, to do and be whatever Grantaire needed. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Grantaire went on, sounding desperate, his voice rough. “I just wasn’t sure if I’d even be able to stay more than a few minutes and I didn’t want to disappoint you. Or myself. Or Joly. Or…” 

Heart aching, Enjolras pulled back and cupped his face with both hands, hating the look of desperation and panic in Grantaire’s eyes. “Hey,” he chided softly. “You wouldn’t disappoint me. I’m proud of you, R.” 

Grantaire shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t _do_ anything,” he protested. “I just went. I did manage to stay, but I just listened. I didn’t talk to anyone…I bolted as soon as it was done.” He was shaking now and Enjolras wanted so badly to soothe him. “I couldn’t…I took Bahorel with me because I knew he wouldn’t say or do anything, and I’m sorry I didn’t take you instead, but I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to go and…” 

“I’m not upset,” he insisted quickly, pressing forward to rest his forehead against Grantaire’s. He pulled him closer and ran his hands up and down his arms and sides, through his hair and across his neck; he just wanted to keep touching him, trying to calm and comfort. “I’m so, so proud of you. Even if you didn’t talk to anyone,” he added quickly before Grantaire could insist that it wasn’t important. “I know how difficult it must have been to even go, and I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me or take me with you. I _do_ understand.” 

And he really did. Because he knew how easy it was for him to take things too far too quickly. He could admit that he pushed, that he liked solving problems quickly and saw no need to procrastinate. But this wasn’t an injustice that needed addressed or a wrong to be made right. This was messy and difficult and not something he had to – or even could – fix. He was quickly figuring out the best thing he could do for Grantaire was just support him and listen and help when he was asked to. 

There were tears in Grantaire’s eyes when he pulled back, just a little bit, and looked at him. Enjolras’ heart clenched tightly in his chest. 

“You’re really not upset?” he asked softly. “I’m not trying to exclude you, Enjolras. I know you want to help and--” 

Enjolras brushed a tear off of his cheek and shook his head. “I’m not upset, R. I promise,” he said softly. He hated the sadness in Grantaire’s eyes, the worry…hated that he had to struggle with this at all. If he _were_ able to fix this for him somehow he would do it without hesitation. He leaned forward and pressed their mouths together softly, felt Grantaire lean into him further and eagerly return his kiss. 

When he pulled away, he smiled softly and ran his fingers through his dark hair, pushing unruly curls away from his face. “I’m proud of you,” he repeated, wanting to make sure Grantaire knew it was true. “And I love you.” 

Grantaire reached up and covered his hands with his own. His eyes were still watery but they were calmer now. “Thank you, Apollo,” he murmured. “I love you too.” 

They went to bed soon after that, Grantaire slipping close to him under the covers, head on his chest, arm tight around his waist. And Enjolras held him securely, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and whispering that he loved him. 

~*~*~ 

Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure what had woken him. It took a few moments for him to orient himself to the darkness of the room, blinking a few times and shifting slowly. It was only a few seconds later that he realized he was alone. 

He laid very still and listened, convinced that a noise had woken him up, but still not sure what it had been or where Grantaire was. When he heard it again, he sat up and crept quietly out of bed, padding barefoot through the relative darkness of the apartment. Right after college, Grantaire had been lucky enough to find this apartment…it was a great location, it was strangely affordable, and it had two bedrooms. The best feature, however, was the layout with both bedrooms being on opposite ends of the apartment. Since he had moved in, they used the second room for an office-slash-in-home-art-studio and it was nice that they were able to keep it separate from everything else. Grantaire was not in the bathroom or living room and a glance towards the balcony didn’t show any signs of him either. 

Enjolras heard that same, small sound again and quickly recognized it for what it was: crying. His heart caught in his throat as he found Grantaire in the second bedroom. He was sitting on the floor near the half-open window, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, chin on top of his arms…and he was crying. Carefully, not wanting to startle him, Enjolras sat down next to him and reached out to gently place his hand on top of his arm. Grantaire looked up sharply, surprised it seemed to find him there. He wasn’t sobbing hysterically or anything quite so dramatic…just a few tears on his face, the occasional sob catching in his throat – which is what must have woken Enjolras. But his eyes were wide, sad and full of panic. Enjolras knew what this was. 

“Grantaire,” he murmured, leaning closer and running his hands gently up and down his arms. His skin was cold from the nighttime breeze drifting in through the window. “I’m here.” 

Grantaire whimpered a little and pushed forward suddenly, wrapping his arms tightly around Enjolras and burying his face against his neck. Enjolras shifted so he could pull him in close, practically into his lap, wanting to surround him with touch and warmth and comfort. He felt Grantaire’s harsh breathing against his skin, the way he shuddered still over the occasional sob, the feeling of his fingers pressed tightly into his back. It broke his heart and he wanted nothing more than to take away his panic. He forced himself to stay calm, to breathe slowly against Grantaire’s ear, hoping to get him to match it instead of his harsh, uneven breaths. He wanted desperately to know what was wrong, but he knew from past experience that it was best to wait, to simply hold him until the immediate sense of panic faded. 

They stayed that way for a long time, until Grantaire had stopped trembling, his breathing calm again. He pulled back slowly and met Enjolras’ eyes in the relative darkness of the room. “I didn’t mean to wake you, Apollo,” he said softly, voice hoarse. 

Enjolras shrugged. “S’okay,” he answered. “Come back to bed? Please?” 

Grantaire nodded, letting Enjolras pull him to his feet. He stayed tucked against his side, arm around his waist, seemingly reluctant to lose the relative safety and comfort of his arms. When they got back into bed, Enjolras pulled him close and drew the blankets over both of them. 

“You’re cold,” he murmured into his hair. 

“I think I left the window open,” he replied softly, fingers moving slowly over Enjolras’ wrist and in between and around his fingers. 

“It’s okay. We’ll get it in the morning.” 

Grantaire hummed wordlessly in reply. He pushed closer into the comfort of Enjolras’ embrace, moving a little to share his pillow and tangle their legs together. Enjolras watched him follow the movements of his fingers on his arm and hand for a few minutes. 

“Grantaire?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Are you okay?” 

He stopped tracing patterns in Enjolras’ skin and sighed, finally looking up to meet his eyes. There was enough light filtering in through the curtains from outside that he could make out the sorrow in his dark eyes. 

“I’m not in the midst of a panic-attack anymore if that’s what you’re asking,” he replied, sounding weary. “Thank you, by the way.” He paused for a few moments and leaned back just a little to look up at the ceiling. “Otherwise, I’m not sure how to answer your question. I’m not okay…not really. But I’m not in the worst place I’ve ever been either. Does that make any sense?” 

Enjolras nodded. “It does.” He had seen Grantaire worse off than this before, hated to remember those moments, wished for all the world that he knew how to take away the things that plagued him sometimes. 

“I think maybe it was just a culmination of the last month or so. All of…this,” he went on, waving his hand abstractly. “When we talked earlier, I honestly felt calm and a little more sure-footed in this whole endeavor. But then I couldn’t fall asleep and my mind just wouldn’t stop. And of course, eventually, it was nothing but my greatest fear about this entire situation on an endless, tormenting loop in my head.” 

“What fear?” Enjolras asked quietly. 

Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments and drew in a few shaky deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he turned and faced Enjolras and reached out to grasp his hand. “What if I can’t do it?” he asked, voice soft and wrecked. His eyes were wide and full of uncertainty. “What if I can’t stop drinking? What then? Will you leave me if I can’t?” 

Enjolras drew in a sharp breath and felt tears sting his eyes. It felt like being stabbed in the chest. He sat up quickly and pulled Grantaire with him, reaching out with trembling hands to cup his face in his palms and look directly into his eyes. 

“No,” he whispered harshly, not trusting anymore volume to his voice. He shook his head. “Is that…is that what I’ve made you think? I… _fuck_ …” he swore, feeling his own sort of panic now. He wasn’t sure how he could’ve missed this, and it killed him to think that Grantaire had been walking around for weeks afraid to disappoint him, afraid that he would walk away. So many little things made more sense now. 

“Enjolras…” 

He shook his head again, blinking rapidly as tears clouded his vision. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice catching in his throat. “I’m so, so sorry for making you think that, for not noticing…god, I’m so sorry, Grantaire.” He let his hands drop to either side of his neck and he looked steadily into his eyes. “I love you. I love you so much, and no…no, I won’t leave you if you can’t stop drinking. I won’t leave you ever. I…I love you,” he repeated, voice breaking. “Please know that.” 

He dropped his head down to his chest, blinking over his tears and trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs. It was only a moment later when he felt fingertips on the side of his face, one hand slipping into his hair to the back of his neck and pulling him closer. 

“Shh, please don’t cry,” Grantaire murmured. He pressed lips to his forehead and his cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears before slipping beneath his chin and forcing him to look up again. 

Enjolras frowned. “You’re crying, why shouldn’t I?” he asked. 

Grantaire laughed softly, eyes shining warmly through his tears, and Enjolras felt about a thousand pounds lighter in an instant. “I love it when you pout,” he replied. He leaned closer and kissed him deeply, arms and legs wrapping around Enjolras where they sat. 

When they broke apart, Grantaire met his eyes again and smiled. “We’re a mess.” 

Enjolras grinned. “We’ve always been a mess.” 

“Someone should do a case study on us.” 

Snorting in amusement, Enjolras rolled his eyes. “On what? How best to utterly fail at communicating with the person you love most?” 

“Hmm, something like that.” 

Grantaire grabbed them each some tissues off of his nightstand and then pulled Enjolras back down into bed and underneath the covers. He kissed him softly, fingers tangling gently in his curls. 

“Please say you believe me, R,” he whispered against his lips, needing the reassurance. 

Grantaire met his gaze and nodded. “I _do_ ,” he replied. “So much of that thought was fueled by my own insecurities…and less about anything you’ve done. I should’ve just voiced it sooner and not let it eat away at me for so long.” 

Enjolras kissed him again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Enjolras.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - this chapter is longer than most of the others coz I couldn't figure out a good way to split it up. Also - sex! Which I haven't written in a long time so fair warning!

He ran into Courfeyrac by chance outside of Jehan’s coffee shop, although Grantaire had the distinct impression that he had been waiting for him. 

“Hi R, where are you headed?” 

“Home. How’ve you been?” 

“Good…mind if I walk with you?” 

“Sure,” Grantaire replied, suddenly suspicious. Courfeyrac was rarely serious unless something was important or bothering him. He also had little reason to be so close to Jehan’s coffee shop at the end of a typical workday as he worked and lived across town. Grantaire, on the other hand, passed by the building daily on his way home from the art studio and stopped in almost-every day to either say hi to Jehan or just to get a cup of coffee. He thought he might know what this was about, but he was going to wait and let Courfeyrac bring it up. 

They were nearly a block from his apartment, when Courfeyrac finally broke the awkward silence, stopping Grantaire with a hand on his arm and turning to face him. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Are you saying you _didn’t_ just want to walk silently with me back to my apartment?” he asked, feigning shock. He smirked when Courfeyrac blushed and rolled his eyes. 

“OK, fine, you caught me.” 

“Uh, no offense Courf, but this uncomfortable silence wasn’t hard to pick up on. Is this about Enjolras?” he asked, figuring there was no point in prolonging the obvious. 

But Courfeyrac looked surprised, eyes widening. “Um, yes, but…what _about_ Enjolras?” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Uh-uh, this is your thing. You tell me.” 

Sighing, Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I’m not trying to pry, it’s just…you remember that night a couple weeks ago when I texted to see what you were up to?” 

Grantaire nodded. 

“So he had called me before that…and he was worried about where you were. Not that you’re not allowed to go out,” he rushed to add. “And hell, it was only like ten o’clock, but he mentioned that you guys were dealing with some things. He wouldn’t tell me any details, said he didn’t want to betray your trust, which I appreciate, but…he seemed upset. He seemed like he needed someone to talk to…and it’s not like you guys have different groups of friends, so I get that if he mentions it because he needs to talk, then he _is_ betraying your trust, but--” 

“OK, stop rambling, please,” Grantaire interrupted, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I get what you’re trying to say.” 

“I worry about him,” Courfeyrac replied, voice and expression oddly serious suddenly. 

Grantaire swallowed and looked away for a moment, struck by an odd sense of jealousy. Courfeyrac and Combeferre and Enjolras had known one another for most of their lives. They were more than best friends, they were family for one another. Grantaire wished he had grown up with the same. He counted their tightknit group of friends as family _now_ , but he’d always envied the three of them for their easy closeness. 

“I haven’t been fair,” he murmured, turning back and giving him a sad smile. “To Enjolras. And I will fix that, I promise. But it’s better now…he’s not quite as on edge as when he called you that night.” 

“Grantaire…he’s okay, right?” 

He wasn’t used to this worried, serious version of Courfeyrac; he knew he had to give a little. Nodding, he smiled softly. “He’s okay Courf.” 

“And you?” 

“What about me?” 

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, that same worried expression on his face though mixed slightly now with amusement. It was a little bit shocking when Grantaire realized it was now directed at him. He may not have known him for most of his life, but he seemed to have inherited Enjolras’ makeshift family. 

“Are _you_ okay? He said you were the one dealing with something that he couldn’t tell me. You don’t have to,” he added. “I’m just asking if--” 

“I stopped drinking,” he blurted out. He felt slightly overwhelmed by his friend’s concern suddenly. 

Courfeyrac froze, shock evident on his face. 

“Or at least, I’m trying to. It’s not exactly…easy. But I’m…working on it. That’s what Enjolras was talking about.” 

A minute or two ticked by in silence, Courfeyrac looking at him curiously, Grantaire shifting his weight nervously back and forth from foot to foot. “What is it with you and awkward silences?” he asked, aiming for casual amusement and falling a little bit short. “Can you please say something? Like at least tell me you don’t believe me or you don’t think I’ll be able to do it or--” 

“I’m proud of you,” Courfeyrac interrupted. 

Seconds later, Grantaire found himself enveloped in a warm hug. He felt tears prick his eyes suddenly and he blinked furiously to get rid of them. Courfeyrac pulled back and squeezed his shoulders before letting him go, a smile on his face now as he met Grantaire’s eyes again. 

“I haven’t…” 

“Stop trying to diminish this, R. It has to be difficult.” 

“It is,” he answered, not intending the quiet honesty he heard in his own voice. It hadn’t been this difficult to talk about with Eponine, but she had always been easier to talk with about serious things. 

“Oh and you’ve been dealing with Enjolras-style support over the whole thing, haven’t you?” Courfeyrac asked, expression now full of understanding and an amused sort of sympathy. “That has to be…” he waved his hand to finish. 

“A bit much?” Grantaire supplied. 

He laughed. “I’m sure that’s being generous.” 

“You’re right though,” Grantaire went on, wanting to steer the subject away from himself if he could. He needed to escape the fond look of pride in Courfeyrac’s eyes. “I haven’t been fair to Enjolras…asking him not to talk about this with anyone. I’ll tell him that I don’t mind if he does now.” 

“And you? Do you need someone to talk to? I mean, besides him?” 

“I’ve talked to Joly,” he answered. “And Eponine and Bahorel.” 

“Well, fuck, does anyone _not_ already know?!” Courfeyrac reached out and hugged him again for just a second, pulling back with bright eyes and a smile. “I’m willing to help or listen or whatever, if you ever need it, okay?” 

Grantaire ducked his head and nodded. “Thanks,” he said softly. 

They chatted for a few more moments, and it was less awkward than Grantaire had thought it might be. He waited with Courfeyrac until his Uber arrived, promising to talk with Enjolras when he got home. Courfeyrac squeezed his arm once more before getting into the car, his smile blindingly bright as he blew him a kiss and waved goodbye. 

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh, returning his wave and then glancing up at the sky as the car drove away. So maybe he did have the same sort of family that Enjolras had for so long. He thought about how accepting and eager to help and _proud_ each of his friends who already knew had been upon hearing what he was doing. It wasn’t exactly easy for him to accept, but he found himself wanting to. 

He found Enjolras as he usually did, at his desk in the second bedroom, engaged in whatever article he was writing, notebook and pen also at his side, a cup of cooling tea next to him. He leaned down behind him, hands on his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“What are you writing?” he asked, lips against his ear. He felt Enjolras shiver a little and he smiled, pressing another kiss to his neck. 

“It’s about the lack of governmental support for public education tied in with the high amounts of debt that come with seeking higher education degrees.” 

“A favorite topic for so many,” he replied sarcastically. 

“Grantaire, when you think about--” 

“No, no, stop,” he interrupted quickly, wrapping his arms around him and pressing another kiss to his temple. “I don’t want to argue with you right now, Apollo. I one-hundred percent agree with all of your points.” 

“No, you don’t,” he grumbled. 

Grantaire laughed. “Save your work and then come here. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” 

Enjolras joined him in the kitchen a few minutes later and dumped the rest of his now-cold tea into the sink. “What did you want to talk about?” 

“I haven’t been fair to you,” he replied, eager to make things right. He hated the thought that he had let Enjolras suffer quietly on his behalf for so many weeks now. Grantaire knew he wouldn’t see it that way, but it didn’t matter. He did. 

Enjolras frowned and sat down next to him at the table. “What do you mean?” 

“I want you to go and see Combeferre or call him or whatever…and talk to him about everything that’s been going on. With us…with _me_.” 

Enjolras shook his head and reached out to grasp his hand. “But…” 

“It’s okay, I promise. I haven’t been fair…just because we share the same friends…I know you must need someone to talk to about everything.” 

“I don’t…” 

“You do,” he replied gently. “I ran into Courfeyrac earlier. He was worried about you…he was oddly serious.” 

“But I know how hard this is for you…and that you’re worried it will be even more difficult if everyone knows,” Enjolras protested. 

“I did think that, yes,” he answered. “But I don’t think I’ve been giving our friends enough credit. Besides, Joly already knows…so you know Bossuet and Musichetta know too. And obviously Bahorel…who told me he couldn’t help himself and already told Feuilly. And I told Eponine, and now Courfeyrac…it’s only a matter of time before everyone knows anyway.” 

Enjolras eyed him steadily for a few moments. “Are you sure?” 

He nodded and leaned across the table, sliding his hand to the back of Enjolras’ neck and pulling him in close for a kiss. “I’m sure. Go talk with your life-partner,” he teased. But he tugged on one of his blonde curls and smiled. “I know how much you need to talk with him sometimes,” he added softly. 

Enjolras shut his eyes and leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s neck and holding him tightly. “Thank you,” he murmured after a few moments. “Do you have a meeting tonight?” he asked, still not letting go. 

Grantaire held him back and pressed a kiss to his jawline, smiling against his skin and stubble. “Mmm-hmm…I’ll see you after.” 

“I’ll go see ‘Ferre now…I’ll be back here by the time you’re done.” He pulled back with a smile and kissed Grantaire. “Thank you, R.” 

Grantaire smiled back, feeling better for the simple fact of making him happy. No matter the state of his own mind – and for now he was in a relatively good place – Enjolras’ happiness would always come before his own. It might not be the most healthy thought process but it was true. But this wasn’t a sacrifice…this he could give freely and without regret. 

Enjolras pressed another smiling kiss to his lips before he left, calling out that he’d see him later as he closed the door behind him. Grantaire smiled again and texted Bahorel to meet him in an hour for the AA meeting. Something that was getting increasingly easy to go to. 

~*~*~ 

He came home to find Enjolras on the couch, a book in his lap, his fingers tugging absently at the end of his hair. He looked…relaxed, and Grantaire felt a rush of relief and gratitude. He looked up and smiled and Grantaire felt his heart clench a little. Sometimes it was still surprising…how much he loved Enjolras. And how Enjolras had somehow managed to love him back. 

He hung up his jacket and slipped his shoes off before joining him on the couch. “You look relaxed,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek and slipping his arm around his shoulders. 

Enjolras set his book down and leaned into him. “How was your meeting?” 

“It was okay. It’s still…hard,” he admitted. He still hadn’t gone any further than sitting towards the back with Bahorel and listening, but he had at least smiled at a few people and said hello. “But maybe a tiny bit less hard.” He shrugged, turning and giving him a small smile. “How’s Combeferre?” 

“Fine. He said tell you that he’s proud of you.” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes and ducked his head down against Enjolras’ shoulder. “I wish everyone would stop saying that,” he grumbled. He could feel himself blushing. 

Enjolras laughed a little and ran his fingers through Grantaire’s curls. “But they are,” he protested. “I am too,” he added softly. “And Grantaire, thank you again…I don’t think I’d realized how much I needed to talk to him about all of this. I just…he told me to make sure I wasn’t trying to fix you or turn you into a cause. And I think I _was_ , but I told him that we’ve talked and I’m trying to step back some and just support you more.” 

Grantaire smiled and leaned in to kiss him. “And you are,” he said softly against his lips. He slid his fingers into his hair, deepening their kiss and pulling him closer. He felt Enjolras sigh into his mouth and wrap his arms around his waist. He shivered when he felt Enjolras’ fingers press into the skin of his lower back. Sinking his fingers deeper into his curls, he kissed him slowly, deeply, all tongue and heat and soft lips. He was struck suddenly by how touch-starved he’d been for him, for weeks now. And if the way Enjolras was gripping tightly to him and kissing him back was any indication, he felt the same way. 

He pulled back slowly, unable to stop pressing kisses to his lips, then his chin and jawline, neck and ear. He held him tightly and pressed his open mouth against the spot just below his ear that he knew never failed to make him shiver. “I want to take care of you,” he said, voice low, pressing the words to his skin. “All night.” 

Enjolras whimpered softly, fingers pressing desperately into the skin of his back. He let his head fall back against the couch, giving Grantaire more access to his neck, which he took full advantage of, lips dragging against his skin, mouth open, tongue pressed against his pulse. He bit down gently where his neck met his shoulder and felt Enjolras’ breath stutter, a small gasp escaping his lips. Wanting more, Grantaire did it again, sucking and nipping at his skin, one hand tugging at his curls, the other slipping beneath his shirt and dragging him closer. Enjolras pulled him up, kissing him desperately, deeply, one hand against the back of his neck, the other still pressed to his lower back. 

“Grantaire…” he breathed against his swollen lips. 

He smiled and kissed him again, tongue sweeping over his own, against the roof his mouth, pulling back to nibble at his bottom lip. “Yes, Apollo?” he teased. 

“I want…” he tried, voice low and shaky. “I want…everything. Anything. You. I want you.” 

Grantaire kissed him deeply again, wanting to calm his desperation as much as he wanted to take him apart and give him anything he wanted. “You have me. Always,” he breathed against his lips. 

He pulled back a little, dragging his hands down Enjolras’ arms to grasp both of this hands. He stood up and pulled him with him, back into his arms. He smiled when Enjolras came eagerly, hands sliding beneath his shirt as he pressed forward to kiss Grantaire again. Grantaire ran his hands down his sides and gripped tightly to his hips, pulling him in tightly, pushing his thigh between Enjolras’ legs. He swallowed the resulting moan, and didn’t resist when Enjolras started walking them to the bedroom. 

They lost their shirts along the way and then everything else quickly after, tumbling into bed naked and still kissing. Enjolras was quick to settle back amongst the pillows and pull Grantaire on top of him. He went willingly, moaning as he felt him hot and hard against his skin, kissing him again, deeply, messy, wanting. 

He trailed his kisses down Enjolras’ neck, bit down gently on his collarbone and felt him jerk up against him, a needy moan catching in his throat. Smiling, he chased the flush that ran from Enjolras’ throat down across his chest with his open mouth. He ran his hands over as much skin as he could reach, beneath his back, across his ass, to the underside of his thighs and up to grip his hips. He dipped his tongue into his navel and across the tightly-clenched muscles of his abdomen. 

“Grantaire…please…” he panted, fingers tangling in his dark curls now. 

And oh how Grantaire loved to make him sound this way…wanting and needy. He looked up and met his blue eyes, felt himself harden more over the look of desperate lust he saw there. Not wanting to tease, he took his cock in his hand and then closed his mouth over him. 

Enjolras’ fingers went tight in his hair, groaning with pleasure and letting his head fall back. Grantaire sucked him deeply, hands gripping lightly to his hips, happy to let Enjolras push himself up into his mouth. He looked up and watched the pleasure play out across Enjolras’ face, the way his hair was already even more unruly, his face flushed, his mouth open as he gasped for breath and tried to bite down on his moans. 

Grantaire could still remember the first time they had done this. A late night in Enjolras’ dorm room…Enjolras vulnerable and inexperienced yet so, so determined and then quickly losing that control and going out of his mind with pleasure. Grantaire desperate to touch him anywhere and everywhere, needy and wanting to feel his skin beneath his hands and mouth, to taste him. And Enjolras had come apart for him, and Grantaire had been even more far gone than he already was. 

He moaned around Enjolras cock when he felt a sharp tug to his hair and had to stop himself from reaching between his own legs, knowing he could easily come with a few strokes and Enjolras’ cock hot and hard on his tongue. But no matter how happy he’d be to let him come in his mouth, he wanted more…and he knew Enjolras did too. So he tightened his grip on his hips and pulled back slowly, tongue lingering on the tip of his cock. Enjolras whined at the loss of wet heat, but Grantaire moved quickly, covering him with his body again and kissing him hard. 

Pulling back, he looked down into Enjolras’ eyes and felt a rush of love for him. He smiled and felt Enjolras’ hand on the back of his neck, pulling him back down for another, slower kiss. 

“R, I want…I want you in me…” he pleaded, voice low and needy. 

Grantaire was quick to dig the lube out of the nightstand drawer, pressing close again then and drawing Enjolras tightly against him. They kissed deeply again, hips rocking against each other, hands searching over skin. Grantaire pulled back slowly, reluctant to stop kissing him, despite wanting more. He looked down into eyes blown wide with pleasure, kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, framed by golden curls splayed out on the pillow. He wondered again how he’d gotten so lucky. 

But Enjolras made a growl of frustration and reached out to pinch his arm. “You can paint me later,” he said, voice warm and a little breathless. “I want you now.” 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, lips turning up in a grin. He slicked his fingers up with lube and leaned forward a little, one hand sliding up his chest as he reached the other between his legs. He watched as Enjolras’ eyes fluttered shut as he pushed a finger inside of him, felt his whole body tense for just a second and then relax. Enjolras covered the hand Grantaire had laid against his chest with his own and squeezed, moaning softly as Grantaire pushed his finger further inside of him. 

And the way he looked – flushed all over, head thrown back, curls damp against his forehead, bottom lip between his teeth – that was the picture Grantaire would indeed want to paint later. Now, he wanted nothing more than to continue wringing those desperate moans from Enjolras’ lips. He pushed a second finger inside of him slowly and watched as Enjolras shivered with need. 

“Grantaire…please…I…” he breathed, one hand still squeezing his own, the other now tangled in the sheets beneath them. “More…” he managed before crying out with pleasure as Grantaire found the spot inside him that drove him crazy. 

He opened him up slowly, pushing his fingers back and forth, careful to find the spot that drew so many needy gasps and senseless words from him. He wanted more, knew that neither of them would last much longer, but he was reluctant to stop, loving the wanton picture Enjolras painted before him. He added a third finger and pushed in slowly. Enjolras gripped tightly to his wrist and gasped his name. 

“R please…” he begged, pushing himself down on his hand. “I need… _fuck_ ,” he gasped as Grantaire’s fingers pushed gently against that same spot inside him again. “I need you please…” 

There was a part of Grantaire that wanted to keep going, just like this…to wring his orgasm from him with just his fingers. But he wanted to fuck him more. Slowly, he pulled his fingers out and leaned down to kiss him, one hand tangling in his hair and pulling him close. It was messy and desperate and Enjolras was pulling him close and pushing up against him at the same time. And then he was practically sobbing against his mouth, fingers tugging at his hair and digging deeply into his shoulders. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Grantaire breathed, pulling back and gazing at him once more. 

But Enjolras was impatient and desperate and pushing lube into his hand. And Grantaire couldn’t stand to wait another second, so he slicked up his cock with lube, shuddering with pleasure at the touch. He bent Enjolras’ knees back and pressed into him slowly, head dropping down against his chest, eyes squeezing shut over how fucking good he felt. But he couldn’t keep them closed for long, felt Enjolras’ fingers digging into his arm, heard his low groan of pleasure. He pushed in fully and held still, opening his eyes again to meet Enjolras’ glassy gaze. 

“Grantaire…please…” he gasped. He reached out and pulled him closer, one hand slipping up to grip tightly to his hair as he pulled him down for a desperate, needy kiss. 

Grantaire pulled back slightly and pushed into him again, dropping his head to Enjolras’ chest with a heated moan. He wrapped his arms around him and dragged him closer, reveling in the sounds he was making, in the way he touched him and pushed his hips up to meet him every time. 

“Fuck, Enjolras…you feel so good,” he panted, lips hot and open against his clavicle. 

He knew neither of them would last much longer, but he wanted to watch Enjolras come before he did. He kissed him again, one hand fisting in his hair, then reached between them to wrap his fingers around his leaking cock. Enjolras jerked up against him and called out his name, head thrown back, hips pushing up into his touch. 

It only took a few strokes, a few more thrusts into him before Enjolras came. And Grantaire drank him in eagerly…the sweaty curls against his forehead, the low moan falling from his lips, his eyes blown wide, never once looking away from Grantaire. And it was everything he saw there – love and want and need – that pushed Grantaire over the edge. He gripped tightly to his hips and pushed in deeply, reveling in his tight heat, coming with Enjolras’ name on his lips. 

He fell forward as gently as he could manage, knowing how much Enjolras liked being covered up and surrounded after he came, needing the close contact and weight of Grantaire’s body against him. He took a few moments to catch his breath, mouth open against Enjolras’ neck, arms still beneath him, holding him close. After a little while, he raised his head and met Enjolras’ lazy gaze, his eyes softening as Grantaire brushed his fingers against his jaw and smiled, leaning in to kiss him slowly. 

“I love you,” Enjolras murmured against his lips, fingers light against his shoulders and the back of his neck. 

“Love you too,” he replied warmly. 

He kissed him again and held Enjolras tightly against him for a few more moments, before pulling back. Enjolras whimpered a little as he pulled out of him, hand reaching out to grip his arm, not wanting to lose the contact. Grantaire was quick to clean them both up before crawling closer and pulling Enjolras into his arms again. And he came eagerly, pressing close, tangling their legs together and burying his face against Grantaire’s neck. 

Grantaire wasn’t exactly surprised by his need to be close – he was always eager to be held after sex – but he knew tonight was a little more intense. The past month and a half had been difficult and they’d both been missing one another’s touch. 

“I’ve missed you,” Enjolras murmured softly against his neck. 

Grantaire pulled back a little and slid his fingers through his tangled curls to the back of his neck. Enjolras’ eyes were serious now and a little bit sad and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to hold him close and chase away that look and whatever feelings were behind it. 

“I know,” he answered softly. “Same.” 

He pulled him closer until they were sharing a pillow, wrapped up in each other from head to toe. Enjolras kissed him and it was warm, slow and full of love. 

“Earlier, you said you wanted to take care of me,” Enjolras said when they broke apart. “But I feel like I’m the one who should be taking care of you.” 

Grantaire smiled. “But I love taking care of you! And besides…you _do_ take care of me. No one else has…you’re the only one who’s ever confronted me about my drinking, and despite everything, I know that it came from a place of love,” he finished quietly. It was hard to admit it, but he had been thinking about it for a while. 

Enjolras just looked at him in reply, eyes bright with love as he smiled softly. He pushed forward again after a few moments and settled his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. He yawned and Grantaire pressed a kiss to his forehead and held him tightly as they fell asleep. 


	7. Epilogue

Enjolras woke to the sound of pencil scratching on paper. 

“Don’t move too much,” Grantaire said softly. 

He opened his eyes slowly and peered up at Grantaire who was sitting up, propped up against pillows, sketchpad open against his knees. “I thought you wanted to paint me…from last night,” he murmured, blush rising on his cheeks. 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow and grinned, eyes still on the paper. “Oh I do, but I also didn’t want to get out of bed, and I don’t have any paints stored in my nightstand. Sketching you asleep will have to do for now.” He finally looked away from the paper and leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Good morning,” he said against his lips. “You can move now.” 

He settled back against the pillows, eyeing his drawing critically. Enjolras did move, rolling onto his stomach and closer to Grantaire so he could prop his chin up on his hands on top of Grantaire’s thigh. He looked up at him and smiled softly. “Can I see?” he asked. 

Grantaire frowned, fingers gripping his sketchpad a little more tightly unconsciously. It was an old reflex, Enjolras knew, born out of so many years of insecurity. But eventually he relented, blushing and biting down on his lower lip and turning his sketchpad around. Greedy, Enjolras sat up and took it from his hands. He settled against his side, pressed close, leaning back into the pillows with him and _looked_. Despite their years together, despite the fact that Enjolras _knew_ how often he was the subject of Grantaire’s sketching, the other man was almost-always reluctant to show him. Part of it was insecurity, he knew, but some of it was just hard for him to share. And Enjolras understood that. Grantaire didn’t have as much reluctance showing him his paintings, but as he had tried to explain once, the sketches were much more intimate; they were almost like a journal of sorts with pictures instead of words. 

The picture before him was exquisitely detailed – as they usually were – his curls pressed against the pillow, the blankets pooling around his waist, his eyelashes against his cheek, the small tattoo on his hip that absolutely no one except Grantaire knew about. It made him blush hotly and he curled himself tighter against Grantaire’s side. 

“Were you awake very long?” Enjolras asked quietly, eyes still trained on the paper before him. 

“Not really…I draw you a lot so half of it is already in my head.” 

Enjolras turned in closer and dropped a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s really good,” he said. “They always are.” He expected a rebuttal and was glad to only receive an impatient huff instead. “Can I look at more?” he asked. 

Grantaire sighed and Enjolras slid an arm around his waist, squeezing him tightly and pressing a kiss to his neck. “Just one?” he pleaded, knowing he sounded a little whiny. 

Grantaire turned his head and gave him a half-hearted glare before rolling his eyes. “I know what you’re doing,” he grumbled. 

“What?” 

“Oh don’t pretend to be innocent. You know I like it when you pout. You also know that I have this _thing_ where I find it extremely fucking difficult to tell you no.” 

Enjolras smiled, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He could see the smile tugging at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth and he leaned in closer to kiss him, laughing lowly against his lips when they broke apart. “Please?” 

Grantaire rolled his eyes again and grabbed the sketchbook out of his hands. “Fine, but I’ll pick it.” 

He flipped through a few pages before handing it back. He fell back against the pillows then and threw his arm over his eyes. Enjolras looked closely at the picture he had been given, always eager to take in every detail when he was given the chance. He also liked trying to figure out when and where they were from. The where in this one was easy as he could plainly see it was their living room; Grantaire’s attention to detail made it easy to identify. He was less sure of the when. It was a picture of the two of them, side-by-side on the couch. As usual whenever he sketched himself, Grantaire glossed over the details as if he was trying to draw as quickly as possible and not have to deal with it anymore. It was something Enjolras knew better than to ask him about. Enjolras sat next to him, phone in hand, a troubled expression on his face…every inch of him drawn in great detail. 

“When was this?” he asked, eyes never leaving the page in front of him. 

“It was the day after Gav got hurt at his high school protest. It was when I…asked you to move in with me,” Grantaire mumbled from behind his arm. 

Enjolras took his time, still looking, noting the look of uncertainty on Grantaire’s face, the concentration on his own, their easy, uncomplicated closeness. “I’ll never understand how you can take something simple and make it look so…exquisite.” 

“Simple?! I was really nervous to ask you about living together you know,” he protested. 

Enjolras laughed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He set the sketchbook down carefully on the bed next to him and leaned over to pluck Grantaire’s arm away from his face. “I love it…and you,” he said, voice soft and warm. He leaned down for a long, lingering kiss, sighing when he felt Grantaire’s fingers comb through his hair. 

“Thank you,” Grantaire murmured against his lips. “And no…you can’t see anymore,” he added, laughing when Enjolras pouted. “Not even if you pout!” 

He glared at him for a second, its seriousness ruined by the smile tugging at his lips, and then settled against him, head on his shoulder, and slung his arm around his waist. 

“Don’t you wanna get up?” Grantaire asked, hand running absently through his curls. He let his fingers drift over the back of Enjolras’ neck, causing him to shiver. 

He shook his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. “Not yet,” he mumbled into his skin. Laziness was often hard for him, but he wasn’t ready to get out of bed, feeling content and safe and temporarily relieved of any of the problems that plagued them. “Stay with me for a while?” 

Grantaire turned slightly and met his eyes, hand on the side of Enjolras’ neck. He smiled and leaned in to kiss him gently. “For as long as you’d like, Apollo.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lot less about alcoholism and a lot more about their relationship and how they deal with it and communicate (or don't) with one another. Combine my love of a somewhat-vulnerable Enjolras with an insecure Grantaire and there you go! Fair warning that actual alcoholism is a disease and much more difficult to deal with than how I've described things here.


End file.
